


take charge [of me]

by ninemoons42



Category: Shame (2011), Wanted (2008)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bondage, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Oral Sex, Restraints, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 16:30:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brandon very nearly falls back into self-destructive thought patterns. Luckily for him, Wesley can be very persuasive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take charge [of me]

There was a time in his life when he was content to be ignorant. When everything else and everyone else ran his life for him. When he could not truly be happy because even then he knew that he was just a pawn, just the endless thump of his feet making the hamster wheel go and go and end up nowhere. When he was pinned in place and could not be bothered to struggle against the edges in his skin, bleeding him out, second after minute after day.

And then there was a time in his life when he was nothing but a fool, worse than a pawn, because he was led to believe that he had been given control when the truth was, it was just that something bigger and more powerful and much more dangerous had taken him in hand.

He'd have taken being lost again, lost forever, over that. Over the terrible crash of realization that buckled him down to his knees and nearly ground him down into the dust. He didn't want to be a puppet, to be anyone's toy, to be thrown away the moment he was broken - and breaking was the only path he'd been heading down.

He'd gone deeper, he'd sunk lower, he'd chased that drowning drugging poison and thought that false ecstasy was better than no ecstasy at all.

He took a deep breath, and let his head loll back - falling back into old habits, falling and loathing himself with every inch - and then, sharp movement. Pain. Crack across his cheek. Nerves flaring up.

Oh, god, he was alive, and he was tied down, and he began to struggle. He couldn't move his hands. He couldn't move his feet.

Brandon's eyes flew open and - he was looking right into Wesley's face.

Oh.

And the fear drained out of him, the fear and the nothingness and the traitorous lassitude, because this was Wesley, who looked so alive and so terrible and so beautiful - Wesley, who was looming over him, still wearing his desire right in his blue eyes. Lust mingled with concern. His clipped accent. "I lost you for a moment. I had to make you come back. Have I hurt you? Is it too much? Do you want me to let you go?"

Brandon looked down at himself.

A chair. Leather cuffs looped around his elbows and his wrists and his ankles, and iron chain connecting the O-rings on all three, so there was no way he was getting out of the chair unassisted. His hands behind his back. His legs spread wide open.

He shifted, and gasped as his nerves overloaded yet again. Lubricant leaking out of him, and the unyielding heat of the dildo, pressing on him even as he clenched around it. The ring clamped around the base of his cock, keeping it red and hard and upright so the dark head trickled drops of precum onto his own stomach.

And Wesley, on his knees on his floor between his legs, kneeling up into Brandon's space.

"No," Brandon said, shaking his head. "No, no, please don't let me go, please don't turn me loose - " 

Wesley looked at him a little while longer, just long enough that Brandon thought he'd drown in those blue eyes and go willingly, and nodded. His fingertips pressing to Brandon's mouth. "You can talk. I'll listen to you. I'll listen for you. Safeword if you have to."

Brandon whispered, " _No,_ " and sucked two of Wesley's fingers into his mouth, curling his tongue around them, nipping at them, and watching the pleasure spark in the other man's eyes.

He heard himself make a disappointed sound when Wesley pulled his fingers out - and then he _screamed_ as Wesley bent his head and licked a long stripe up his cock, as Wesley went down on him, slow and torturous and perfect.

Catching his breath and looking down was a mistake, too, because he did it just as Wesley swallowed around him, and Brandon was able to watch and _feel_ as his cock hit the back of Wesley's throat.

Now he was pulling at his restraints for another reason entirely, overloaded and wanting, and it was _Wesley Wesley Wesley_ in his head - as well as his own voice, the voice that told him he'd agreed to this, had _begged_ for it, that he'd given over control, that Wesley held the reins right now but this was ultimately something he'd chosen.

And this time when Brandon fell into it, succumbing at last to Wesley all around him, he fell with his eyes wide open, drinking it all in: Wesley's hands on his skin and Wesley's mouth on his cock and Wesley's chains holding him down to keep him near, to keep him here. Wesley giving Brandon what he needed. Wesley taking him in, keeping him whole, tearing him to pieces, and Brandon couldn't catch his breath because this was _good_ , this was _right_ , this was _his_. 

Release could wait. The world could wait. He had this. He had Wesley. He could stay in this moment. He could stay here, aware and alive.

"More," Brandon whispered. "Please."

Wesley didn't answer him, at least not in words.


End file.
